Bits and Pieces

I was broken into pieces
and parts of me were sold.
One piece was a lens
that stares up from the water
and sees another sky.
A hair wafted off my head,
caught by a spider
who needed a web
to catch the silver
smelted by the moon.
A tooth fell from my jaw
and swallowed by a mollusk,
became a pearl
worn by a girl
who never tasted wine.

My heart dissolved
into yellow violets
lasting only hours,
ephemeral as showers
in the spring.
Pieces of me got scattered
in my letters
and tossed into baskets,
eventually consumed by
rain and fire.
Things not claimed
were autographs I left
on windows,
that lasted only minutes,
leaving a smudge,
and wiped off.